


i'll go to war for you, let them bring it

by wheretheskiesend



Series: lotr | aralas oneshots [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Basically, But I don't think I'm that funny so, Fluff, Gimli lets stuff slip, Humor, I hope it is, I mean, It's not that funny, M/M, Storytime, Team Bonding, enjoy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheretheskiesend/pseuds/wheretheskiesend
Summary: storytime: gimli lets word slip that legolas isn't as *perfect* as he appears to be





	i'll go to war for you, let them bring it

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this one took so long! i've been super busy, but i hope y'all like it!

They were, undoubtedly, late, and as if that wasn’t already enough, they were King Elessar of Men and Prince Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm, covered in mud and what was probably defecated from a horse.

 

“Say, Pippin,” Merry began, but Gimli broke into a guffaw so loud that the hobbit simply turned and stared at the dwarf.

 

“You two ‘ave finally done it, eh?” He managed to get out between laughs. “Théoden had money on Legolas, but looking at you two. . . ‘Twas Aragorn, was it not?”

 

Legolas froze, eyes widening as he shook his head minisculely. “What is he talking about?” Aragorn asked, and much to Legolas’ chagrin, he was looking right at him, mud-covered hair and all.

 

And he was still just as handsome.

 

The elf shook his head. “I have no idea of what he is referring to,” he rushed to say, shooting a quick glare at Gimli. “Perhaps all of that ale he has ingested is affecting him.”

 

Gimli shot up, albeit shakily. “I’ll drink you under the table, lad, just say the word.”

 

“The way you did last time?” Pippin offered with a smirk. Behind him, Merry snickered.

 

“I remember! Legolas was standing and Gimli just keeled over, as if he’d been hit with Éomer’s pan, or something!”

 

Gimli seemed to be turning a brighter shade of red by the minute. “Aye, that might have been a losing battle, but later ‘twas I who saw the elf stumbling over his own feet.”

 

“Huh?” Legolas frowned, looking around the room at all the eyes that were trained on him expectantly. “I have no recollection of this.”

 

Even Aragorn looked amused as he took his seat at the table, pulling the one next to him out as well, for him to sit. Legolas sit, still mulling over this new piece of information he’d just been given.

 

Sam grinned. “Well, Frodo and I weren’t there either, perhaps you can fill us in?” Frodo nodded enthusiastically.

 

“Indeed, it sounds like quite the spectacle, I am truly sorry to have missed it,” he added, smiling sweetly at Legolas, whose frown deepened when Gimli chortled twice as loudly as he had previously.

 

He tossed back a mug of beer and wiped the froth off his mouth with the end of his beard and the back of his hand. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, I’ve never seen an elf act as such.”

 

Legolas leaned over Aragorn and reached for the lembas bread. “Was it that entertaining?”

 

“You were quite a handful, my friend,” Aragorn murmured. “I am surprised the story has never come up sooner.”

 

“You could have mentioned it, if it was as you say,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “I do not wish to be kept in the dark.”

 

“That I know, Legolas,” Aragorn sighed, but wouldn’t meet his friend’s inquisitive gaze. “I do not remember as much of that night as I wish I do.”

 

“Aye, he was trashed!” Gimli roared as Merry fell out of his seat laughing. “The lad was absolutely trashed—”

 

“You have to start at the beginning, set the scene and all that, if you’re to ever tell us the proper story, Gimli,” Frodo gently interrupted. “Not that what you have said so far isn’t good, it is, but we can’t quite picture it.”

 

The dwarf nodded sagely. “Of course, of course. It all started when he challenged me, can you believe that elf, the nerve! Challenging a dwarf to a drinking contest, bah, he was destined to lose, and lose he did—”

 

“Gimli!”

 

“Aye, sorry, my boy!”

 

♚♞

 

_ Gimli opened his eyes and sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. In the corner of his eye, he caught that other man, Emer or whoever, staring at the collection of emptied beer mugs on the table in front of him. _

 

_ “Oye!” He yelled, and Emer looked down at him, amusement sprinkled over his features as he took in the dwarf lying in a puddle of beer. _

 

( “I was not lying in the beer!” Gimli protested hotly, rejected Merry’s suggestion with a furious shake of his head, ale spraying from his beard.

 

“Aye, but you were,” Pippin agreed.

 

Gimli scowled. “Fine.” )

 

_ “How may I be of assistance?” Éomer asked, offering a hand and hauling the dwarf to his feet. “I do hope you don’t plan on drinking another.” _

 

_ But the second comment wasn’t directed at the magnificent dwarf, who was with absolute certainty, far superior to the fair-haired elf. _

 

( “Gimli, stop describing yourself and continue the story!” Éowyn demanded. The dwarf rolled his eyes.

 

“But. . .,” he cut himself off at a look from the shieldmaiden of Rohan. “Aye, my lady.” )

 

_ No, the comment was directed at said fair-haired elf, who was swaying, even through his drunken vision, as if he were dancing. _

 

_ “I have not won yet,” Legolas proclaimed.  _

 

_ “The dwarf lies passed out under the table. You yourself had announced that you had won.” _

 

_ The elf paused, thinking for a moment. “I do not remember this.” _

 

_ Éomer sighed. “Of course you do not. You may have an increased tolerance for the wine King Thranuil serves at his parties, but I should think even an elf would his his limit at thirty tins of ale.” _

 

_ Of course, Gimli could always drink thirty one, he’d always been notorious for even out-drinking one of the line of Durin, Fili, who had been known to out-drink everyone. _

 

_ “Yes, but I must first win!” Legolas retorted hotly, reaching for another mug and gulping it down, half of it slipping down his chin and dribbling onto his shoulder and the hair that lay there. _

 

_ Gimli chortled. “Your hair is the color of caramel now! Hah! How does it feel, to go from having your hair be compared to starlight to caramel!” _

 

( “I never said any of that,” Gimli muttered. “At least, I do not think that if I did, it was in those exact words.” Faramir shook his head.

 

“I was not there, but I have no doubt that is something you would have said, Master Dwarf.”

 

Legolas frowned. “Who has compared my hair to starlight?”

 

Aragorn coughed, sounding almost as if he was choking. “Perhaps a Mirkwood elf, Tauriel, you said her name was?”

 

“She is courting Kili,” Legolas answered.

 

Aragorn reached for his glass, hiding his face from Éowyn, who was grinning broadly and nudging Faramir, who—the nerve—was smiling as well. “You are a decent looking elf, Legolas. Surely it can not be so hard to accept that you have acquired many admirers?”

 

He was almost positive he heard Éowyn mock his hoice of words, “‘Decent looking elf’ my foot,” she’d said, and he set the glass down with a thunk.

 

“Why don’t we continue the story?” Sam asked, noticed Aragorn’s discomfort. Aragorn nodded enthusiastically, all the while a sense of dread filled him. He had not lied to Legolas when he’d said he did not remember most of what had happened, he had been far too tired, after all.

 

“Right on, lad!” )


End file.
